


Bun/Oven

by eigengrau



Series: Girl!Will Graham [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Couples Talking About Couple Things, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Genderswap, Kink Meme, Manipulation, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, mention of miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eigengrau/pseuds/eigengrau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is no world to bring a child into, Will thinks, staring at the plastic pregnancy test in her hand with something approaching dread.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme prompt: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1375.html?thread=258655#cmt258655
> 
> "Hannibal wants to impregnate Will. He tries until eventually he succeeds."

This is no world to bring a child into, Will thinks, staring at the plastic pregnancy test in her hand with something approaching dread. A world with no safety, no security, no hope. Will has never wanted to have kids, never had any desire to make another life within her. She can barely take care of herself, let alone another human being, tiny and helpless.   
  
How did this happen? She's been on the pill since college, careful and studious in her avoidance of a surprise like this. Why would it fail now, after all these years, when it's sat so faithfully in the mirrored cabinet of her bathroom like a blue bite-sized safety net?  
  
She wonders if they made it in the Pennington house. She doesn't want to believe it, but somehow she knows that they they did. She closes her eyes and she can feel it again, can feel Elsie Pennington's intestines in her hands as Hannibal noses at her hair, fucking her against the dark kitchen wall. Conceived in blood and death and evil thoughts.  
  
And yet. Her hand hovers above her stomach, flat now, soon to be- what? Round? Full? Heavy with a child? The thought of her and Hannibal, playing house in some picket-fence suburb, makes her laugh, but it comes out as a sob.   
  
Will can't picture a world where she's a mother, let alone a world where Hannibal would marry her. That's not the kind of the relationship they have. Her life is dangerous, and, she thinks, would she even be able to carry it to term, or would she suffer an inevitable miscarriage? She's seen it happen before, to others in their line of work- from stress, from car chases ending in a crash, from a perp shoving the woman bringing them to justice down a flight of courtroom stairs. And even then, if she could protect herself long enough for it to grow, they would be terrible parents, her flighty and strange and always about to tip over the edge and him-  
  
She can't think about that.  
  
But the image comes into her head unbidden, oddly solid and vivid. She can see herself, sweaty and exhausted but calm, with a warm bundle in her arms, and Hannibal is beside her, smiling, reaching out to let a tiny hand wrap around one of his fingers-  
  
No.  
  
The FBI bathroom is suddenly too hot, the stall she's hiding in claustrophobic and miserable. She fumbles with the pregnancy test, stuffing it into the sanitary napkin disposal. Her head is too full, too confused, stuffed with dreams she's never had and the gore of the man on the autopsy table upstairs, and for the second time today she vomits into the toilet, what's left of her breakfast coming up as hot stinging bile. She heaves a few more times, until she's sure that she's finished, until her head has cleared, and then she straightens up and leans heavily against the cold stall door.  
  
There is a murderer out there, somewhere, that they are counting on her to catch. Hannibal is waiting there, upstairs, waiting for her to return.  
  
She will tell him as soon as they can get a moment alone, and make her decision from there.


	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal sits in one of the plastic chairs that fill the empty conference room. He looks up at Will where she stands in front of him, twisting her hands. She winces and turns her head away.

"You're sure?" He asks. Will nods. Her palm comes to rest on her stomach. She doesn't seem to notice that she's doing it.

There's no emotion in Hannibal's face. To Will, it looks like he's deep in thought. She must be on the verge of panic, waiting for him to say something, to do something. He leans his chin into his hand, mimicking a Rodin statue, diliberately enigmatic.

On the inside, he is beaming. His plans, so carefully constructed, are always stunning when they come together, flawless in their chrystalline simplicity. He had wondered if Will- clever Will, perceptive Will- would notice that her contraceptives had been replaced with sugar pills. But why would she expect it? Why would dear, sweet, tortured Will expect for her medicine cabinet to be tampered with while she slept in the next room? She trusts so beautifully, for a woman who has so little reason to trust anyone.

He wants to reach for her, wrap his hands around her hips and bring her to him. Wants to press his lips to the flat of her stomach, soon to be full and round, to feel the cloth of her shirt under his mouth and imagine what she holds inside of her.

He doesn't do that. Instead, he steeples his fingers and looks at her. "What do you want to do?"

Will lets out the breath she's been holding. "I don't know. I never-" she adjusts her glasses, coughs. "I never wanted to have kids. And I don't think I should... I wouldn't be a very good mother." She laughs bitterly. "It would make more sense to, um."

This is it. Hannibal can only manipulate so much, can only control the experiment, not the result. It is Will's decision now, Will's choice. For Hannibal, the situation is win-win: either her heart moves a little closer to his, or she will fracture again, another hit to the window pane of her soul, another blow close to shattering. Either way the cracks that Hannibal has engineered will spread a little further, like spider-webs wrapping her for him.

He would prefer one outcome, but he'll take either. Destruction through creation has a kind of poetry in it.

He stands up and draws her to him. The hug feels alien, and strange- neither of them has really hugged someone in years- and he can feel Will stiffen uncomfortably before she relaxes in his arms.

"It's your choice," he says into her hair. "It is your body, after all."

"Yeah, but," she mutters, face pressed against his chest, "it's your baby, too."

Hannibal stays silent, and strokes a hand down her back.


End file.
